What Could Be (but hopefully won't)
by Achillia
Summary: They thought they had all the time in the world but what if that's not the case? Inspired by the upcoming Trespasser DLC) *trailer spoilers but no content spoilers*


A/N – Biowares Sandbox but I like playing. Thanks to Em as always.

Inspired by the upcoming 'Trespasser' DLC and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but Trespasser has me properly scared for the team.

* * *

What could be (but hopefully won't) 

It hadn't hurt like this since the beginning.

That fateful beginning three years ago, when the breach was still in the sky and everyone was terrified. When she'd walked through Haven with Cassandra and the malignant stares of the townsfolk had followed her every move.

As the pain flared once more and green light filled her vision she cursed herself for a fool. Why hadn't she devoted more time to _understanding_ the mark as opposed to just _using_ it?

Solas. In the old days she'd have gone to Solas. He'd have said something that was at first cryptic and unhelpful, but, if she waited patiently and asked the right questions, it would have slowly begun to make sense. Then he'd have made a vague suggestion at a possible solution that would somehow turn out to be accurate and the problem would be solved.

But Solas was gone, Maker only knew where, and with the Qunari threat looming, she couldn't devote resources to tracking him down just in the hopes that he _might_ be able to save her life.

Gritting her teeth against the sudden spike of pain that heralded the end of an attack, she tried not to make too much noise. The mark seemed to tear her skin apart, flickering green light spilling out and illuminating the small side chamber in which she'd sequestered herself. Then, just like that, it was gone, dulled to the throbbing ache that was her constant companion these days. At least that she could ignore.

Breathing a sigh of relief she flexed her fingers and pried herself off of the floor, rising to stand on still-shaking legs. There was no doubt about it – it was definitely getting worse.

Gingerly, she cracked open the door of the antechamber and peeked into her bedroom. By the dim light of dawn she could just make out his form sprawled across the bed. As she pushed the door open and crept towards him, she caught the sound of his soft snoring.

She hadn't woken him.

Good.

She wasn't sure why, and it was unusual, given that he was the one person with whom she shared everything, but some part of her hadn't wanted him to know how bad it was getting. He'd only worry, she had told herself repeatedly, as the guilt of the concealment washed over her. He'd probably run himself ragged trying to do everything he already needed to do _and_ find a way to save her.

Besides, she wasn't convinced that there even _was_ a way to save her.

Maybe it had been a death sentence right from the start.

She'd have to talk to him now though. Now that the attacks were more or less thrice a day and getting worse each time.

Tomorrow, she told herself as she carefully lifted a corner of the blankets and crawled in beside him. She'd talk to him tomorrow.

* * *

"Do you have some time?" she said, with forced light-heartedness, as she slipped into his office that afternoon.

He looked up from his work, shooting her the almost unbearably attractive smirk that still, after nearly _three years,_ sent a spark of desire throughout her being.

"For you? Always," he replied softly as the smirk bloomed across his face, transforming into one of his genuine smiles. He began to haphazardly tidy the papers strewn across his desk (not that it was ever even remotely tidy by normal standards), something he always attempted before they left for their usual walk across the battlements.

They'd always walked along the battlements. Right from that first fateful time when she'd entered his office a nervous wreck and left virtually giddy with happiness, still feeling the ghost of his lips on hers for the very first time. After that, she kept dragging him outside because it got him out in the fresh air and kept him from being cooped up in that relatively small tower all day. Later, he'd confessed to her that physical exercise, even something as little as patrolling the battlements or pacing about his office helped keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay and for a while they'd done it because of that. Lately, they'd done it because it was what they'd always done, a routine as familiar as sharing breakfast or playing chess of an evening.

Today though, she stopped him. This was one conversation she didn't want to have out on the battlements. He gave her a confused look as she reached out to wrap her fingers around his, stilling his movement.

"Could we talk here?" she asked quietly, her mouth going suddenly dry as she met the already concerned look in his eyes.

"Sounds ominous," he replied, smiling tightly, though the serious look on his face took all the usual warmth out of it.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip and perching herself on a cleared corner of his desk.

"It's about this," she began opening her hand and letting the familiar green light flicker over both their faces. She watched it for a moment, preparing herself for what she had to say. "It's getting steadily worse and…"

"I know."

She blinked.

"You know?"

"You think I don't notice when you get up in the middle of the night?" He shrugged, his smile becoming just a touch warmer. "Or when you hastily excuse yourself from the war room only to disappear under the keep? Or the way that, every now and again, you grimace as if struck by something?"

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She thought she'd been discreet.

"Well, why didn't you _say_? _"_ she spluttered.

"I assumed you realised I knew and simply didn't want to talk about it," he replied easily, as if it were obvious.

She paused. She didn't really have an answer for that. Particularly since under normal circumstances it was exactly what she would have done.

"It's not important," she decided, briefly shaking her head. "That's not the point. The _point_ is I'm… scared. I don't know if I'll survive…"

"Evelyn..." he breathed, sounding strained, worried. She stopped him reflexively, her fingers against his lips, forcing herself to meet his eyes and witness the pained, _tortured_ expression on his face.

"Please, let me finish," she begged. At his nod of agreement she moved her fingers to cup his cheek tenderly. In return, he reached out, grasping her wrist with one hand, using the other to hold her hand to his cheek. He dropped a light kiss onto her palm, her marked palm.

"I don't know if I'll survive this much longer," she began, and Maker help her it was so much harder to speak when staring into his eyes, but she had to. "And if… if something happens to me, I can't _stand_ the idea of you being alone."

He made a strangled noise in the back of this throat but didn't interrupt.

"So I want you to promise me. _Promise me._ That if I… die you won't give up on life… or..." She swallowed. Hard. "Or… love," she finished, throat too dry to continue. All of her willpower was being used to stop the tears pricking at her eyes from falling down her cheeks.

He didn't reply immediately. Instead he carefully pried her hand from his cheek, wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed.

"Let me show you something," he murmured, letting go of her hand and moving back behind the desk. She twisted around to watch him as he pulled open a random drawer and rummaged around in it.

After a moment, he straightened and placed a small, square, velvet covered box on the desk between them. There was only one thing that came in a box like that.

"It was my mother's ring," he said softly as they both stared at the box and what it meant, what it _could have_ meant. "I picked it up when we went to South Reach last summer. I was going to wait for the perfect time. The perfect place. I thought… I thought we had all the time in the world but… now…" He trailed off, shaking his head abruptly, then scooped up the box and moved back around the desk.

He waited one moment, meeting her eyes unwaveringly before he began to sink to one knee.

She immediately leapt up off the desk, reaching out to grip his forearms and stop his descent.

"Don't." She pulled him to his feet. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard in her chest that she could feel every beat throughout her entire body. She wanted, dear Maker, how she _wanted._ She wanted to live. To love. To say _yes_ the way her heart so desperately wanted to.

But…

"If you give that to me now," she attempted to explain through the tears that she could no longer hold at bay. "You'll spend the longest time mourning what could have been, what _should_ have been and… and you won't ever be able to give it to another."

"I don't _want_ to give it to another!" he spat sounding almost furious as he tossed the ring box onto the desk and pulled her into his arms. He cupped her face in both hands, staring intently into her eyes before peppering her lips, cheeks and eyelids with kisses. "I love you," he repeated over and over again. "I love you. I love you. _I love you_."

"I know," she breathed, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a hug as tight and fierce as she could make it. "I love you too."

They stayed like that for a long time; she couldn't say how long exactly.

"I'll make you a deal," she said eventually, turning her face into his neck and inhaling his familiar scent. "I'll fight as hard as I can to come back to you. I swear I'll give it everything I have left and if I manage it then you can give me that ring. At the perfect time and in the perfect place and I _promise_ that I'll say yes. Nothing in this world would make me happier. But…" She paused, breathing in his scent and nudging her nose deeper into his skin. "But if I _don't_ make it, then you have to promise me that you'll _try_ to be happy. In the end. Promise me that you'll at least _try_ to find someone else to give that ring to."

"Evelyn..." he whispered, broken. Somehow, he sounded more tortured now that he had ever done during the worst of the withdrawal, and that clawed at her heart in the worst possible way.

" _Promise me_ ," she pleaded. She needed him to. She needed to know that if she failed everything and everyone else that at least _he_ might be safe and happy. In the end. "Please," she begged, tears once again falling freely.

"I… I promise," he said even as he crushed her to him in an embrace that was fierce and hard and _possessive._

But she knew that he always kept his promises.

And at least she'd have that comfort in the end.

NOW DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING DO IT BIOWARE!


End file.
